


The Remarkable Tale of the Angel that Wasn't

by BreezySkye



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel!Sam (kind of?), Angsty as all hell Cas, Character Death Fix, Copious amounts of archangel snark, Crowley is imprinted on Sam like a baby duck, Gratuitous amounts of dashes, Gratuitous amounts of italics, I have an issue with punctuation, I'll add more tags when I know where the hell I'm going with this, M/M, Possibly suicidal Cas, Slow Burn, depressed Cas, i really need to update this soon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-01-27
Packaged: 2018-01-09 21:36:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1151074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BreezySkye/pseuds/BreezySkye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were three things Gabriel was certain of.<br/>One, he was dead.<br/>And then two, he suddenly wasn't.<br/>And three-- that was definitely his grace making a comfy little home with Winchester super-sized.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Human

**Author's Note:**

> My beta reader is Microsoft Word's spell check. 
> 
> This is pretty much the first thing I've felt comfortable publishing. Go easy on my lil baby here.
> 
> AU after the Season 8 finale.

Gabriel was bored.

That's what happens when you become a semi-conscious mass of particles and energy spread out from here to kingdom-come. You get bored. You easily get bored, even though you can sort of feel the billions of trees and planets and stardust and anti-matter you suddenly became after whatever bursting, explosive, light-bringing event caused your demise.

Light bringing.

Lucifer.

Gabriel was sure that if he could muster the energy needed to, he'd be furious. Pissed, even. Maybe a bit resentful, actually--after all, his brother had killed him. Stabbed him. Did him in.

Sort of.

It was the general, angelic consensus that once you died you sort of, well, died. In the 'cease to exist' category. Bam. Game over. You're all out of balls. Do not pass go, do not collect your two hundred dollars. El fin. Done. Dead and gone, for all intents and purposes, because angels had no afterlife, no little neat boxes of Heaven or Hell to stick their everlasting whatever-it-is-they-have-because-it's-not-a-soul inside. Not even some sort of angel purgatory, for christsakes. You think Dad would've noticed that he overlooked that part, right? But nope. Good ol' Dad forgot to provide his obedient little celestial robots a truck stop for when all their parts break down. Instead, angels got to explode into a supernova of light and energy and other generic cosmic stuff, get their ethereal forms ripped apart and stretched across all of time and space, and (here's the whammy) got to stay conscious of it.

Well, at least that's what happened to Gabriel. But he was (and hopefully still is) an archangel, so he wasn't a very good basis for a hypothesis. But, hey. It was his only working theory.

And right now?

He would kill for a Twix.

 

* * *

 

 

Being sort of part of everything now had its share of benefits. He could feel--somehow, with some part of him that was still conscious enough to register feeling things--when the Cage was opened, and Lucifer--no anger, no resentment, just a resigned sort of, 'oh, hey, he killed me'--went out like a little blip of a pixel on the great cosmic computer screen. What did, however, get him to focus enough to cause a small star to go supernova was the dawning realization that, hey, wait a minute, that means the Winchesters had won. That means they had listened to him, they had actually listened to him, and had beat Heaven and Hell. They had beaten the odds. The impossible odds. The odds that had been predestined by God himself to be a gajillion bazillion to none. And they did it.

The rush of unexpected surprise and affection he felt for those pesky humans obliterated half of a small galaxy.

Oops.

 

* * *

 

 

 

He accidentally wiped out the entire Mayan civilization (so that's where they went) when the Cage was opened again. Less opened, more anally breached by a big dick. The big dick, in this case, being Death. Who, all things considered, wasn't as big of a dick as he honestly could've been. And what was--oh, wow. Death had 'Great Escape'd the youngest Winchester out of Hell. Sam. Sam, with Lucifer. In the Cage. Oh, joy.

What had he been doing there? Gabriel felt inquisitive, which was a great deal more than anything he felt most days, now, but it was washed away with frustration. Because he could never answer that question. Because he was dead. Still, he experimentally tried to poke and prod bits of himself that were spread way too far to heed his control towards the kid; just to try, just so he had something more to focus on than nothing.

He caused a few earthquakes doing so, and a solar storm on Venus.

This would take some getting used to.

 

* * *

 

 

His energy dog-tags on Sam must have worked because one day, Gabriel was jolted out of quietly observing a very pretty purple budding star by a throb of distress. A throb of distress from a soul. A broken, bleeding, dampened sort of soul with all these hooks and pins in it and, oh, Sam Winchester was in trouble.

Gabriel wished sorely he could help. He did. The distress stayed for a very short period of time, to Gabriel--he surmised it was only a week or two, on Earth--and then abruptly stopped.

There was a shift of something when it stopped, but it stopped all the same and left Gabriel alone in the universe as a swirling mass of gas and nonexistence and stardust.

 

* * *

 

 

When had Purgatory opened?

He was becoming more acutely aware of things surrounding Sam, to the point where his blasted bits of essence were coalescing around him like dollar bills to a hooker. Hookers. Women. Sex, something he missed nearly as much as sugar. He hadn't really been a very good example of an angel, had he?

He felt souls--all the Purgatory souls--being returned to their dusky little pain-pit of despair and violence, by--by Castiel? Of course. If there was trouble to be had, his brother would be in it. Thick as thieves, Cas and the Winchesters. And then--

Dad damnit, Cas had broke out the Leviathans.

There was a spectacularly large, dark crack running through the invisible web of ethereal matter, now--sticky and dark and ravenous. Gabriel kept his conscious mind as far away from the web of tar as he could.

He didn't know what would happen if it got to him, but he didn't want to find out.

 

* * *

 

His brother, as genuine and innocent as he was, was a complete and utter idiot. Gabriel decided this when Castiel got sucked into purgatory in an implosion of black-ish goop. Dean got stuck there right along with him.

Gabriel was worried for them, he was, but he was almost glad that the spreading disease of ethereal energy had been locked away. It had reached him, been leeched onto the very fringes of his consciousness, feeding off of his existence. Feeding off of him.

He was tired; very, very tired, and as the flickering lights of a baby galaxy lulled him into a parody of sleep, he managed to wonder; Where's my impassiveness gone?

 

* * *

 

Gabriel's neck was sore. And there was something digging into his back that was flat out painful. And he was thirsty. Really, really thirsty.

Wait, what?

Gabriel's eyes flashed open. His eyes. He had eyes? When did he get eyes? He had figured that being dead eliminated that possibility. Written somewhere in the fine print.

His next move was to sit up. He reckoned you needed an actual, physical, everything-in-working-order body to sit up, so there was another surprise. His leg hurt. He had legs. He decided that legs were useful for standing. So he tried that. After falling down twice, he resolutely gave up on standing. His legs didn't really want to cooperate with what he wanted to do. Which, you know, was something he had never really had a problem with until now, but he figured that being dead probably impacted your ability to walk.

So he decided to opt for checking out his surroundings. Which was basically a lot of trees. A lot of trees. So he was in a forest, or something. Well, not 'or something'. Definitely a forest, and he was definitely near people because he was somewhere in the realm of ninety percent sure that was a door leading into the ground over there.

Hey, he'd been dead for X amount of time. Doors could have changed their appearance by now.

He had been dead. Key word. Gabriel guessed that he was pretty much alive at this point, if the breathing and steady, incessant drum of a heartbeat under his ribs was any sort of proper indication of alive-ness. If it wasn't, he had to tell some doctors what was up, because they seemed to think that a heartbeat was a good sign.

Okay, his body was cooperating better now. He lifted a hand and ran it down his face--eyes, nose, mouth, teeth, cheekbones--before patting himself down. Clothes. Simple pair of jeans, simple shirt. Soft. He forgot how much he missed sensation. Judging by the general amount of discomfort he was in, and the fact that he actually couldn't feel his wings, he was human. Okay. Great. Human, in pain, alone, disoriented, in a fucking forest, and, not to mention, just magically resurrected from the dead. 

Now that Gabriel had that barrel of monkeys figured out, he settled for trying to stand again. To which he gave up after realizing he had no shoes, and what he was laying on was rocks. Sharp, hard, painful-to-walk-on-barefoot rocks. And so, with all the dignity of a dead man, Gabriel crawled the few dozen feet to the door, and lifted a shaky, unused-to-movement hand to knock. He hit the door too hard, and his knuckles twinged in protest. Being human sucked.

Speaking of sucking, it was what he was doing to his middle knuckle (which he'd somehow managed to split open) when the door swung open, and he was being cordially greeted by a large, loaded gun in his face. A gun being held by a very tall, very angry, very macho-looking Dean Winchester--to which Gabriel had no response but to take his knuckle out of his mouth, offer a weak smile, and say; "Hey, Deano. Got any soda?"

 

* * *

 

Gabriel was sucking down his third can of 7-Up. He felt a little dizzy, a little nauseous, a little high, a little addicted to the stuff. Was this a sugar high? At least there was that--being human had some perks. Dean was still staring at him suspiciously from across the table, gun firmly in hand. And aimed at Gabriel. And still loaded.

Gabriel lowered the empty can and gave it a mourning, doleful gaze before he snapped his eyes up to meet Dean's, which made the hunter flinch and re-aim his gun. To which Gabriel gave a doubtful look. "You've run me through every test in your little hunter's manual, Deano, I'm human." He crinkled his nose. The tests had been uncomfortable and painful-- his forearm still stung, and he could still taste the weird, cloyingly electric taste of holy water in the back of his mouth even though he'd been trying to wash it away with soda. "Trust me; I'm not happy about it either. But I'm not gonna, like, eat you, or anything, dipshit." He added and tapped a rhythm on the side of the empty green can. "You wouldn't even taste good."

"Oh shut up." Dean snapped, finally flicking the safety back on and setting the gun down. Within convenient reaching distance, Gabriel duly noted. "Alright. You're... You. Nobody can fake being an annoying dick all the time." Gabriel beamed at him. Because he could. Because he was alive now, he could smile now, he could feel and express what he was feeling. And right now, he was relieved that he hadn't been shot. As a human, he was significantly more breakable. "Which brings us to the question..." Of course he'd have to sit through 'Twenty Questions: Hunters' Version' before he could talk on his own. "How are you alive?"

Gabriel shrugged. "I don't know." He said honestly. "Makes no sense for Dad to bring me back. Or bring me back human, for that matter. Anything interesting happen lately we can blame this on, and let me be on my merry way?"

Dean's hand twitched towards the gun, almost on an impulse. "No." So, yes. "How'd you get here?"

"Woke up outside." He was feeling slightly put-out that Dean didn't have the creativity to ask any fun questions. Or give him any answers.

"What's the last thing you remember before, uh, 'waking up outside'?"

"Can I have another soda?"

Dean gestured to the fridge. "In there."

Apparently, Gabriel was allowed to move now. So he pushed back from the table and stood--on shaky, wobbly, uncooperative legs--and hobbled his way to the fridge. He came back with a 7-Up and a beer, the latter of which he handed off to Dean. Sucking up to the guy with the gun couldn't hurt anything.

The man raised an eyebrow, but took it before repeating his question. "Last thing you remember?"

"Dying." Gabriel said bluntly. Lying, of course--how do you explain existing as an inert energy that permeated everything to someone like Dean, whose thick skull made a Cro-Magnon seem like Nikola Tesla? Dean's impassive mask of a face shifted ever so slightly for a fraction of a second, and Gabriel casually added, "Which, you know, would be yours and your brother's faults. So, if we're done here, I'd like to see my own little brother?" Castiel, for all his impressive arsenal of social skills, would answer his questions more readily than Dean. At least, he hoped he would. Otherwise Gabriel would be stuck at the mercy of the ever heroic Winchesters without any clue as to what the fresh hell was going on around here.

Dean's face steeled again, hand making a much more pronounced shift towards his gun. "That's a no-go. Now why don't you--"

Gabriel stood abruptly, which was less impressive than intended due to the fact that he had to lean heavily on the table. It still sent Dean lunging for his gun, though, and he had it pressed to Gabriel's forehead before he'd even registered the movement. "Safety's on." Gabriel breathed, mouth curling up into a small smirk.

Dean's eyes narrowed and the cool press of metal retreated, gun being replaced on the table. They both eyed each other warily, and then Gabriel spoke again. "You two got me killed, I've been dead, Dean. Nonexistent. Vamoosh. I realize you think you're hot stuff for having a sexual flirtationship with death--" which was really a nasty image when you actually knew the guy-- "But try being a semi-conscious mass of energy and floating in and around everything all at once, in every frickin' time period, past and future. Then you can get all high-and-mighty. But hey, I just want to see my brother. I think you, of all people, can relate to that." He took a deep breath, red in the face. This breathing thing sucked when you had to do it.


	2. Freedom is a Length of Rope (or an Invisible Wall)

"Hey there, Cas." His brother looked downright miserable. His brother also looked like he needed a shower, his hair lank and dejected looking. His hair matched the rest of him--lank and dejected, with his eyes sunken in and his face gaunt. His eyes--a sky blue, absent of its usual celestial electricity, its usual spark--slowly raised up to meet Gabriel's gaze. The thin line of his mouth curled into a hollow smile. "Hello, Gabriel."

Well that was... A little cold. Gabriel expected some rejoicing, honestly. A party. Streamers. Balloons. Crying. "You look like crap." He said honestly.

Castiel's smile turned sarcastic. "You look well, for being dead."

That explained the absence of the expected rejoicing. Gabriel gave his brother a cautious smile. He'd missed smiling. "Newly raised, Cassie. You're talking to Gabriel two-point-oh, minus the shiny wings and pagan pranks."

That got Castiel's attention, and the fake smile fell slowly. "Gabriel?" His voice was raw and disbelieving, his eyes sparking with a strain of hope. "Father?"

"Most likely not." Gabriel shrugged. "If so, he didn't say anything to me." After all this time, to probability of Dad bringing him back to life was a little less than absolutely no chance whatsoever.

Castiel sagged back, and Gabriel literally watched the hope die in his eyes. "Oh." And then-- "Oh. Gabriel. I'm sorry, I'm sorry for--"

"You had better be about to apologize for how you smell, or I don't want to hear it." Castiel already had too much guilt on his shoulders, and it was weighing him down. Gabriel didn't want Cas to feel like him dying was his fault. Even if, in retrospect, it was.

Castiel stared blankly at him, and Gabriel offered him another smile. "Hello, shower? Something humans have to do to avoid smelling like all of the other animals on this planet? We gotta do that, too."

"Did-- did Dean tell you?" Castiel looked wary and sad, and his eyes flickered over to where Dean had been quietly lounging in a corner this entire time.

"Strong-and-Macho has told me absolutely nothing!" Gabriel said brightly. "Is there anything to tell?"

 

* * *

 

"Metatron was always a little prick." Gabriel said eventually. Winchesters. Motherfucking Winchesters. "So the watered-down version is..." Gabriel paused and grimaced. "Samsquatch decided to try and close Hell, you have a new prophet, Crowley, the King of Hell is imprinted on Tall-and-Plaid like a baby duck, and you complete idiots managed to get Metatron enough firepower to decimate the ranks of Heaven? As in, he's flying motherfucking solo up there?"

Castiel's expression remained impassive. "Yes."

"You helped him--unknowingly--cast a spell that was strong enough to weave a dead archangel back into the physical plane, fully conscious?"

"Apparently so."

"And all of the angels are powerless and on earth? In vessels? That they have no idea how to, oh, I don’t know, use to blend in?"

"Uh..."

Gabriel leaned backwards with a bark of laughter. "You are all idiots. Caging Luci was dumb luck. I knew it was dumb luck. How are you all not dead yet?"

"Dumb luck." Castiel said dryly. Cas had showered and dressed in some of Dean's clothes--the fallen angel looked really, extremely strange in an ACDC shirt.

"Right. Right. Where's the rest of Team ‘Let's-Destroy-The-Fabric-Of-Space-And-Time’? I want to say goodbye before I leave and very happily never see any of you ever again."

Castiel looked crushed. "Gabriel, you can't--"

"Hmm? What can't I do?" Gabriel asked, a fake pleasantness coloring his tone with thinly veiled sarcasm. "I got killed because I stuck around you guys. People who stick around you three don’t seem to have much in the way of a lifespan. Sorry, but I'll take my chances in the big, bad world." Now that he wasn't spread out particle-by-particle across the expanding universe, he could muster up the energy needed to feel more than mild resentment. A lot more energy than needed, actually. Fury might be the word he was looking for, as a matter of fact.

Castiel flinched, and Dean warningly waved his gun around. "I can shoot you, you know."

"But you won't." Gabriel said matter-of-factly.

"How do you know?"

"I killed you a couple hundred times. I know you better than you think."

Dean had no response to that, and Castiel spoke up again. "Of course you can leave. We have no reason to force you to stay against your will."

Castiel and his free will. Even after everything he'd been through. "Thanks, Cassie." He gave Dean a challenging smirk.

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Fine. Let's go." When Castiel moved to get up, Dean immediately veered away from Gabriel to pause awkwardly in front of the darker-haired man. "You don't have to get up. You-- you rest or something."

Castiel gave Dean an irritated glare. "I can walk, Dean, even if I can't fly."

Dean looked properly abashed.

 

* * *

 

 

Gabriel looked blankly at the surrounding trees. Well, that could put a damper on his plans of leaving immediately and not looking back. "Uh, how do I get gone?"

"We can get you a car." Dean offered in response. Cas was quiet.

"I don't know how to drive." Snapped Gabriel irritably. "I could fly, I never needed to learn how."

Dean looked smug. "Looks like you'll have to stay, then."

"What do you look so happy about, Winchester?" Gabriel huffed, arms crossed, looking for all the world very, very furious at his inability to do something as mundane and necessary as drive.

"It'll be nice to have an archangel around." Dean shrugged in response. "Information."

"On what, stars? Dinosaurs? I'm no help."

"Maybe you know something that can help us."

"Help you with what? Cleaning up your mess? Sorry, family doesn't mean so much to me that I'd throw away my second chance at life for it."

"Maybe that's why Father brought you back." Castiel said quietly.

"I told you, he wouldn't do that--and why, why would he anyways? What's the reason?"

Castiel shrugged, a mirror of Dean's motion. "A dead man has nothing to lose."

"Well, as you see, I am very much alive. So save your philosophy for someone who cares." Gabriel snapped and uncrossed his arms, striding off.

He got as far as the first semi-solid row of trees before he walked into a wall. A rock hard, invisible wall that very much did not want to budge. But if Gabriel was anything, it was stubborn--he tried running into it and this time, was thrown backwards, sprawled out flat on his ass.

 

* * *

 

When his senses returned to him, he was looking up at Dean's 'I-told-you-so' grin and Castiel's are-you-okay frown.

Dean opened his mouth, and Gabriel cut him off before he could speak. "Hope you've got an extra room."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm super sorry this chapter is so short, ahhhh. The next one will be longer, I swear


End file.
